


Letters

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: DIWS Prompt Sprints [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25248691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: After the apocalypse that couldn't, Aziraphale takes up writing letters.Written for the Prompt Sprint "Letters" in the DIWS Discord Server.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: DIWS Prompt Sprints [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829197
Comments: 29
Kudos: 70
Collections: GO-DIWS Prompt Sprints, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man how about we just write 900+ words in a 20 minutes sprint HAHA JUST KIDDING....UNLESS?
> 
> Anyway this was done as part of a Prompt Sprint, a fun little nonsense we do sometimes in the DIWS discord server. You don't have to participate in a major event to be in the server, it's open to everyone! Come join us [HERE](https://discord.gg/amnVAnb) if you'd like <3

It was endearing, insofar as a demon could find things endearing.He’d never admit it, not out loud.Not where anyone could hear him.But he could keep them in a little box, locked up tight on the opulent desk in his office.He could take them out, smell the vetiver and book dust on them, trace the curved lines of the swooping script that scrawled “Anthony J Crowley” on the outside.Could run his finger over the wax seals, memorizing the bumps and lines that beget a certain signet ring from a certain angel’s finger.

The world hadn’t ended, several months ago now.And Aziraphale had taken to writing letters.

They saw each other most every day now, even more than when they were raising Warlock.Oftentimes Crowley found himself far too…well… _preoccupied_ to be bothered to come back to the flat for several days at a time.

But every time he returned, there were letters.

His old-fashioned angel, courting in old fashioned ways.

Aziraphale had always been a lover of words; creating his little dragon’s horde on a corner in Soho to keep and covet and collect them.Crowley hadn’t ever put much stock in reading, not until those words were leveled at _him_. 

From the most mundane ( _There’s a lovely new bistro just opened up by the florist, maybe we could go in the next few days?Maybe pick up a new arrangement for the front counter?_ ) to the sweepingly romantic ( _Oh, my darling, how we spent all these millennia in silence is lost on me now.Every day I think only of the touch of your hand, the press of your lips, the feel of your —_ Well, best leave that last bit to the imagination.), Crowley keeps them all.Locked in this little box on his desk.

Though his curiosity is great, and he’s always been an asker of questions.

Another night at the bookshop, in a lovely haze that only a well-made vintage French red can create, he finally asks.

“Angel, why do you send so many letters?”

Aziraphale pauses, hand in midair, gesturing towards some point he was trying to make that now lies forgotten on the hardwood.“What do you mean, darling?”

Crowley likes to think he’s gotten used to the shift from “my dear” to “darling”, but he hasn’t.Still causes his face to go red, still makes his heart skip a beat.He’s sure he’ll get used to it at some point (he won’t).

“Y’keep sending me letters, angel,” Crowley slurs through his drunkenness, “Dunno why, ‘m right here, here most of the time.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, suddenly much more sober.Crowley is hazily aware there’s a misstep, but he can’t quite figure what it is yet.“If they’re troubling, I can stop.”

“Wait, wait, nononono,” Crowley stammers, sobering up in his own right.“S’not what I meant, dove, not at all.”

He gets a smug satisfaction from the wiggle the endearment gets him.He’s not the only one with things to get used to.But Aziraphale turns those big hazel eyes on him, full of questions of their own that Crowley is powerless to leave unanswered.

“I just meant, I like them, but I don’t see the point?I’m right here, you can tell me right here.And you do, all the time, so as much as I love the letters— and I _do_ , angel, don’t interrupt me, love — I just want to know why you send them.”

“Well,” Azirpahale starts, fidgeting with his ring.Crowley’s hands reach out, covering his, stilling his worries and fears (at least, Crowley hopes they do).Aziraphale smiles at him, and that alone is worth saving the world for.“I suppose it’s making up for lost time.There’s only so much I can say, so much I can do, but I like sending them.It’s a bit old-fashioned, but it’s more permanent than words in the air.I want you to have these pieces of me and of my heart, for if I’m ever not around.”

Crowley laughs at this, pulling Aziraphale close and kissing him deeply, tasting the tannins of the wine still on his lips, preferring that to any glass he could drink it from.“Angel, you don’t have to send them on paper,” he wriggles his hand in between them to rest on his own chest, “they’re right here, you make sure of it.”

“Oh _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale says with that specific bastard smile that lets Crowley know he’s doing something _kind_ or _nice_.He hates how much he loves it.

“ _Don’t you start_ ,” Crowley says in a way that should hit on threatening but misses the mark and dives straight into fond, as evidenced by the angel snuggling against his chest and sighing deeply.“That’s a one off aberration don’t start thinking I’m sentimental or some other shite.”

“Of course not, dearheart,” Aziraphale says as he wraps his arms around Crowley, pushing them both back to lie across the couch in each other’s arms, “Can’t have you getting sentimental.I’ll just have to stop sending them, if they make you so sentimental.”

“I didn’t say that, angel, if anything I’m…. Tempting you to sloth or something.Lust perhaps.Wasting your time writing them.Perfectly demonic.”

“Well, I suppose for your sake I must keep writing them then,”Aziraphale says, and Crowley can feel the bastard smile against his chest, “Keeping up appearances and all that.”

Crowley is glad Aziraphale isn’t at the angle to see the blush on his face.


End file.
